


Slow Poison

by clearlykero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearlykero/pseuds/clearlykero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Lovegood has a number of unhealthy habits. Harry Potter is just one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Poison

**Author's Note:**

> forgive my overuse of italics. they make me happy. forgive this fic in general tbh

1.

He knows that Harry likes blonde hair. Luna has mentioned before the obsession Harry has with Malfoy's boy. That could be a passing thing, he allows, turning a considering eye on his own snowy-haired reflection. But he suspects otherwise. There's nothing more telling, after all, than the tightness he observes (scrying eyes are such useful things, aren't they? he thinks to himself) under Harry's robes after every encounter with the Malfoy offspring.

But it's too early; Harry doesn't even know him yet. Xenophilius' overtures will only be looked upon as the crazed ramblings of an old man (and he is _not_ an old man, no matter what the idiots at the _Prophet_ say). He is also not _balding_ \-- this last declared loudly to his empty bedroom.

So be it, he then decides, reluctantly. He will not touch Harry today. There is, however, nothing preventing him from watching, and sighing, and touching himself when he cannot see his wife's photograph on the dressing table. Once, Luna almost walks in on him; after that he remembers the locking charms.

  
2.

The pages in this copy of _The Quibbler_ are slightly crusty, and some of them stick together. It is one of their limited Harry Potter: An Exclusive Interview! runs, of course, and Xenophilius is very protective of it. He is especially protective of it when he is in bed. Harry Potter has not been seen since Dumbledore's death, but Xenophilius doesn't mind. He is glad that Harry isn't following the Malfoy boy around any more. Harry is far too good for that filthy (he _can_ say it) Death Eater scum. Luna has been quiet as well, tending to the Dirigible Plums without a word about her father's increasingly biased _Quibbler_ articles.

There's hardly anything about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the pages now, let alone Nargles or the Minister's army of Heliopaths. The occasional Plimpy recipe makes it in, but everything is covered in Harry's face otherwise. Potter here, Potter there, sometimes Granger even less often Weasley. Potter, Potter, Potter-- Xenophilius loves the way it sounds, the soft plosive and the tap of tongue against teeth, whispered and secret against damp sheets.

Xenophilius is not particularly bothered by the change in his wife's expression, from a beaming smile to a furrowed brow, a line that is her pressed-tight lips. She stands silent and disapproving in her photograph, now turned to the wall. His heart beats so loudly in his chest, _lub dub lub dub_ until he can barely breathe through the dizzy excitement. Katricia had never given him anything _like_ the feelings he was experiencing now, surely nothing close to the swirling heat squeezing him from neck to chest to groin to tense-curled toes.

Later he looks up at her photograph, drawing lazy circles in the off-white puddle on his stomach, and feels the guilt ooze away.

  
3.

At Bill Weasley's wedding, Xenophilius has cause to celebrate.

He had picked out his best set of robes for the day; a beautiful drapey velvet affair in citron tones matching his daughter's. Now, fingering the tassel on his cap, he is pleased with his decision. For here, in front of him, disguised as one of the numerous Weasley relatives, is none other than _Harry Potter_. He makes the necessary introductions (because Harry doesn't know, he doesn't know _anything_ the poor innocent boy) surreptitiously letting his eyes rake over Harry's figure. He is obviously Polyjuiced, but Xenophilius _knows_. The same way Luna, prancing up to them as he turns to make small talk with someone else, knows as well.

Harry Potter cannot hide his true self quite so easily, and especially not for ones like the Lovegoods. Xenophilius is rather proud of his easy recognition of Harry's aura. But of course it would be easy; hasn't he been watching Harry for a long time now? Isn't Harry like his own-- like his own?

Xenophilius wants quite desperately to go back to where Harry has been drawn into conversation by a dark-haired, scowling gentleman, but before he can make up his mind the ceremony is starting. He sits through the wedding distractedly, all his attention on _Harry Harry Harry_ and when it is over he hurries to give their present to the newly-wedded Weasleys.

 _Finally_ , he thinks to himself, saying goodbye to the Weasleys, _finally he can talk to Harry properly_. But it is not to be; a group of men from the WUNDERMUGGLE[](http://keroppon.livejournal.com/28280.html#foot_2) Guild corner him, asking him about the difference between Crumple-horned Snorkacks and Erumpents and _really_ , he is quite unprepared for all this clamour. He fields their questions anyway, sneaking occasional glances at Harry speaking to the same dark-haired man from before. Is it his imagination, Xenophilius wonders, or is the man shooting him Looks? His face looks rather familiar. Xenophilius wonders if it's another one of those dodgy celebrities whose names he can never remember.

There are altogether too many people at the gathering. He concludes that getting Harry alone will be next to impossible tonight, as unhappy as the thought makes him. He allows his attention to drift, but only when the scowling man leaves Harry alone. Then, he joins Luna on the dancefloor.

  
4.

They've taken all his pictures of Harry, all the magazines, _everything_. All he has left is an empty, Luna-less, Harry-less house.

He has broken bones, he knows. Rib cracked, shin fractured, nose broken. The skinny werewolf had been the one inflicting most of the damage. _Fucking poof_ , he'd said, spitting on Xenophilius' face.

He's not a poof, he thinks dazedly. He just. It's just that Harry, Harry's so beautiful, but _no oh no_ _please no_ Luna, _they've taken Luna_ he can't go on without Luna, and he knows what he has to do now.

Something cracks in his chest, like an egg.

  
5.

The day Harry Potter appears on Xenophilius Lovegood's doorstep is a miracle.

At first he is scared ( _what if it's them again_ his mind whispers), when he sees the flash of ginger hair and freckled skin, but then his eyes move to rest on _Harry_ and his mouth drops open.

"Hello, Mr. Lovegood," the boy says, his hand held out politely. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Xenophilius doesn't say that he knows all this already. Instead he drinks in the sight of the scar, The Scar, and he is silent until Harry asks if they can come in. At this, the fright returns. What if Greyback comes back? What if they _know_ , somehow, or what if they're watching him? What if, what if, and more importantly _what if_ he can't control himself? Xenophilius lets himself look at Harry, sidelong. Harry looks disappointed, and Xenophilius' chest clenches painfully. He doesn't quite usher the group in, but he lets them in anyway, slamming the door behind them.

His mind is racing. Right now, right _here_ , all he wants to do is make Harry his own. He could. He knows he could. But if he did that-- _Luna_. Xenophilius feels his stomach drop into his feet.

He leads the way upstairs, throws a sheet over the printing press (can't let them see the new issue, can't let them know about _that_ ) and turns to look at Harry again. His mind is made up, although it hurts him physically to have to deceive this magnificent boy, but he must. He must. For Luna.

"Why have you come here?"

  
6.

In Azkaban, where they threw him after his failure to get them Potter, all he can think of is the last time he saw Harry. How it felt to finally, _finally_ touch his smooth skin, to run his hand down the sharp angles of Harry's face, to feel the soft rasp of an unshaven chin beneath his fingertips.

He thinks it makes up even for not having Luna. For lying day after day in his dank cell.

"Harry," he whispers, fingers dancing ever lower on his body.

  
7.

When Xenophilius Lovegood is rescued from Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort, the only sound he can voice is a quiet plosive, a disconnected 'puh'.

 

*

 

 


End file.
